


The Unholy War

by Loremaiden



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 13:25:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loremaiden/pseuds/Loremaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson would follow Holmes into the very gates of Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unholy War

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to JWP #3 (Sacred Spaces) on Watson's Woes.
> 
> Sacred Spaces: Incorporate the religion or philosophy of your choice into today's story, in whatever manner you choose.

Doctor Watson tightly held his revolver as he stealthily inched his way through the abandoned warehouse. The waning moon was smothered by black clouds and could not offer him any succor through the jagged shards of glass that were once windows. He was forced to close his eyes every so often for a few tense seconds in order to better adjust his sight to the darkness. The closer he got to his destination, the harder it became to push down the dread that threatened to rise up and choke him.

Eventually, Watson made his way to the end of the maze of rotting wooden crates, then suddenly spun around to hide behind a stack as he collected himself from witnessing an unexpected sight.

Disturbing reports had been shakily whispered in his ear from those he had questioned in this case. Apparently a Satanic cult was performing ritualistic occult murders in the area. One corpse had been found every day for six days, with the panicked rumors turning more and more towards the supernatural. Holmes had scoffed at the rumors, but the murders were definitely real and definitely gruesome.

So as the doctor had been exploring the warehouse, his fearful and overactive imagination was conjuring up black masses, upside-down crucifixes, bloody sacrifices, and other sickening depravities. He had fully expected to witness vile horrors tonight.

What he did _not_ expect to witness was warm candlelight illuminating a cordial group of six well-dressed gentlemen quietly chitchatting to one another around an ordinary table. They were smoking cigars and drinking brandy as if they were at the Tankerville Club instead of a dilapidated depository. It all looked so _normal_ that he almost expected a game of whist to begin. It was hardly the terrifying congregation chanting blasphemies over blood-soaked altars that Watson had anticipated.

He thought for a brief moment that he broke into the wrong warehouse. That thought was quickly banished when he noticed each man wore a black rose pinned to their lapel. The spatter of black dye discovered at the most recent crime scene was the clue Holmes had needed to piece the sordid puzzle together and track down the cult's headquarters. Watson also noticed the murder weapons--six ornate ceremonial daggers, one casually held in each gentleman's non-dominant hand.

And Watson also saw the reason why he took the risk of infiltrating this devil's den in the first place—his friend, bound tightly to a chair a few feet away from the cultists. Holmes was slumped over in his seat, unconscious from what Watson could see from his vantage point had been a nasty blow to the temple. But it was the color of crimson seeping through Holmes' snow-white left shirtsleeve that made the healer's vision wash red.

Ever the soldier, Watson charged forward with righteous fury flashing from his eyes. The cultists, their daggers at the ready, suddenly leapt up from their chairs to battle this new quarry.

The unholy war had begun.


End file.
